


i look for you and you look away

by doubtthestars



Series: the places we will go [2]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:16:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3266339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubtthestars/pseuds/doubtthestars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By now, everybody knew he was present. He could almost see the headline: Prodigal Son Returns to Anfield and what a great coincidence that was, with the arrival of Xabi Alonso. How fortunate it was, that the old friends still kept in touch. A pack of lies suitable for news from beginning to end. </p><p>or Xabi goes back to Liverpool instead of retiring and Stevie asks why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i look for you and you look away

He is on the other side now, in the stands(well a box) and Steven knows the cameras are probably cataloging every tick, every strained smile and movement that he gives. He cheers and shouts and doesn't give a damn because he's a visitor now. 

Bruce doesn't care where he goes in the off-season, but warns him with that easy-going attitude of his to not get his face on any newspapers for partying. Stevie laughs because he is too old for that lifestyle and between the two of them, Bruce would be the one more likely to get smeared on page six for a bar fight.

Robbie Keane is awkward, patting him on the back with too much force. 

"Come back, yeah?" He still had a couple of months left before his contract was up yet everybody was joking he'd get lost down memory lane and not find his way back. Steven hadn't been amused but he couldn't blame them. 

He had been obsessed with the news of Xabi not retiring after Bayern when everyone had seemed so sure he would. Liverpool had bid for him and Stevie suddenly picked up every paper and read every scrap of information for more. He would call Brendan himself, if he had the stones for it. 

He reminds himself that he is not the captain of Liverpool anymore. It's not his bloody business. 

So he waits on his hands until Alex lets him go with an eternally suffering wife smile.

"I'm surprised it took you this long."

Xabi is a free transfer and most pundits are reserved in their opinions because he is no spring chicken and they are all spiteful, jockeying the words retirement holds a better form for Alonso than a crippled Liverpool. Steven grits his teeth at that. Their midfield is littered with injuries to the point that Brendan had to sign a young DM to take up space.

He feels sick, like he can't hold down his stomach from churning and turning into a nervous mess as the new day breaks. He goes to his regular haunts before entering Anfield to calm himself down, to have a touchstone. 

The crowd is electric, but he always knew that. The static charge that grows in him fights the anxiety and he sings along.

 _When you walk through a storm. Hold your head up high._

He is anonymous in the voice of a crowd and he feels free to love his team without having to expose his beating heart to every journalist and fan. 

_Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart_ the roar goes on. He wonders how Xabi feels at this moment, hearing the song he left behind unchanged and still going strong. Does it feel like home? 

He searches Xabi's face for something he's not sure he wants to find. It would be disappointing if he had to leave for Xabi to come back to his senses, but he doesn't pretend to understand the man. He can make a million excuses for the reasons he didn't come back just as many as why Stevie never left, but it wouldn't make them true.

It is surreal to see him in a warrior kit, in the familiar red, the liverbird sitting on his chest and he is glad he decided not wear his own to the game. 

His brain would probably have a mental lapse and think he was back in 2006. 

By now, everybody knew he was present. He could almost see the headline: Prodigal Son Returns to Anfield and what a great coincidence that was, with the arrival of Xabi Alonso. How fortunate it was, that the old friends still kept in touch. A pack of lies suitable for news from beginning to end. 

Stevie doesn't make a show of greeting the team, doesn't shake, and doesn't give the media the satisfaction of a single picture with Xabi. He is sure that will make its own headlines but he doesn't trust he will not give himself away if there was a camera astute enough.

After the game, a text to his phone spits out the address of a hotel. He doesn't need to ask who it is.

It is a decent place with a small kitchenette in the suite and Xabi opens the door with wet hair and sleep pants on.

"We lost." His lips are a sardonic twist to the right. The Spaniard had never been able to keep his face still when things went wrong. He would rather laugh at himself than cry about it. 

(except once, but Stevie buries that as deep as he can without examining it)

He stands closer to the door than the bed. 

"It was a good game nonetheless, Xabs." His tongue curls with disuse and he stops himself from flinching at the nickname that rolled off his tongue without thought. He guesses he never stopped calling him that in his thoughts when they strayed.

Xabi hums an agreement or a dismissal, Stevie's not sure. There is a balloon in his chest that keeps expanding and pops when Xabi fucking Alonso gets in his space, all aggressive like he is blocking him, like they are on opposite teams and Steven is the threat, like Stevie had done something wrong.

"Why'd you come back?" He bites out, irritated with himself. 

"Why did you come here?" Xabi returns, his English more mangled than before his stint at Bayern. He is not bitter, just disappointed. 

"You are different, Stevie. Los Angeles has defined you, made a mark, yes?" Stevie has a moment to realize that this trip had been a farce. His mouth goes dry. He wants to ask what's changed because he can't see the difference where they're standing. Seven years had passed yet he was still in a hotel room with Xabi staring at his mouth with dark eyes. 

He lets go of the breath he had been holding since Xabi insinuated himself into his personal bubble.

"Why?" He forces out of the jumble of thoughts. 

"I missed you. I missed Liverpool. What is the difference?" The air in the room seems thin to Stevie. He cannot get enough of it to his brain. He feels twenty three again with the captaincy meeting like a knock to the head. 

"Are you having a laugh? Showing up to save the day with your trebles and your experience with _winning_ to get out gracefully? to make it a show?" The dark of his eyes turns flinty and he's not distracted anymore. Stevie brain is screaming at him to leave it go before it turns into a force of nature he cannot stop.

Xabi is polite, unfailingly, even as he balances a knife to stab your metaphorical heart. 

"It is only a year." He says as if that's a suitable answer. Stevie wants to shake him, ruffle him until something like the truth comes out. He wants to say, that's a year I don't have, with _my_ team, not _ours_.

What he says instead is:

"I loved you." _You left._ That gets a reaction. That is completely off-script for Xabi Alonso. Falling under things he didn't think Stevie would say like aiming a gun with one bullet and getting an unlucky shot in. Xabi is frozen like he heard the gun go off and still hasn't realized he is bleeding.

"Stevie," he breathes and Steven doesn't want to hear any more. There is a buzzing in his ears. 

It is his phone. 

He leaves him with words in his mouth struggling for air, dying on his tongue. He leaves him like Xabi left him all those years ago and thinks it is fitting.


End file.
